


Of Hobbits and Belt Buckles

by mitsukai613



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, I'm Sorry, M/M, admittedly kind of dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3643290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Bilbo falls from his pony, Thorin insists on the hobbit riding with him. Bilbo, of course, is very annoyed by something prodding him in the back as they ride. When he mentions that Thorin's belt buckle was annoying him to Fili and Kili, the boys, of course, laugh. Thus starts a journey of trying to discover what is so funny about belt buckles, along with a journey to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hobbits and Belt Buckles

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the tags, this one is sort of dumb and I am sorry, but, well, probably you're all used to my stuff being sort of dumb a lot of the time anyway. Still, hopefully you all can find some pleasure in my dumbness anyway!

                It wasn’t my fault that the pony didn’t like me. I fed her apples whenever I was able, and I brushed her mane, and really I was probably nicer to her than any of the dwarves, but still she seemed dead set on harming me. Throwing me from her back was only the latest of her attempts to kill me, but I did at least expect it was the closest one yet to success. I groaned, throbbing all over, and the dwarves stopped. I groaned again, this time not from pain; Thorin already didn’t like me much, and this setback would only put him farther against me, I knew as much clearly.

                I tried to stand myself, but Bofur got to me first, hauling me up with an ease that was a little unexpected, when one looked at him next to the other dwarves. I offered him a smile even though I was honestly a little bothered that they seemed to see me as so weak and so in need of constant aid.

                “Alright there, Bilbo?” he asked, and I nodded.

                “I am. Thank you, Bofur.” He tipped his hat at me, and I was about to go back to the pony so we could continue on, but Thorin’s voice stopped me.

                “Halfling, come here; you’ll be riding with me from here on. I don’t want to stop every mile simply because you can’t stay seated on your own pony. Trade some of the equipment to that one.” I know I flushed, half with anger and half with embarrassment.

                “That’s the first time I’ve been thrown, Master Oakenshield, and I don’t expect it’ll be happening again so soon!” I tried to sound indignant, but he only raised one thick brow at me, frown curling his lips down and deepening the lines of his face. Admittedly, I shrunk back a bit.

                “You’ve been uncomfortable on the pony all day, Halfling. It’s a wonder she hasn’t thrown you before now; when you are more comfortable on them, perhaps you can ride alone again.” And with that, he swept back to his own mount, obviously done speaking. I gritted my teeth, ready to turn to Bofur and ask if I could ride with him instead, but he was already on his mount and apparently ready to go. I sighed, head down, and made my way to Thorin’s pony. He hauled me up with ease, as if I weighed nothing at all, and I flushed more darkly as he settled me in front of me.

                Honestly, I was probably more comfortable there than I had ever been; I’d been told more than once, when I was a lad, that riding with another this way was quite improper. I chuckled to myself, voice a little taut, and squirmed some as Thorin clicked his tongue, setting the pony off. My father had had a fit when I came home this way once, though the one behind me was another hobbit, a farm hand. My mother, on the other hand, had been quite amused with me, almost congratulatory, even.

                The terrain here was harsher than in the Shire, though, far bumpier, and I was far less steady on the wider, stronger pony Thorin rode than I had been on the other. So, I was squirming almost constantly, trying desperately to keep steady, and the more I moved, the tenser I could feel Thorin getting. Finally, before we’d even gone a mile, I heard him growl.

                “What?” I asked, and he only growled again, harsher this time.

                “Be _still_ , Halfling. I’d rather my pony not throw us both.”

                “I wouldn’t be moving if I didn’t feel as if I were going to fall with every step it takes!” I tilted my head back to see his face and immediately wished I hadn’t; it had been almost three days since he looked quite that annoyed with me. His hand settled suddenly over my stomach and dragged me back, and I almost thought, for a moment, that he was going to throw me from the pony and leave me there, but instead, once I was firmly pressed against him, he did nothing. I gaped; if it had been improper before, it was downright indecent now!

                “Thorin, I-,” I tried, but he cut me off before I could say much else.

                “You will not fall now. Be still and be silent,” he hissed, and I knew that there was little I could say that would make him change his mind. After all, he was very likely the most frustrating being I’d ever met, dwarf or otherwise, and even Fili, silver-tongued as he periodically proved himself to be, probably couldn’t convince him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

                Despite his command, however, it was difficult to remain entirely still. The ride was still rough and even with Thorin’s firm hand on me, I couldn’t stop myself from shifting at least faintly with the motion of the pony, and though the warmth of the touch was nice, as was the solidarity of chest behind me, I couldn’t get entirely comfortable either. His belt buckle, or the pommel of his sword, or some other metal bit or bob that characterized dwarven clothing, was digging into my back quite unpleasantly, and the more I tried to wriggle away from it, the more annoyed he seemed to get. Finally, though, I did at last manage to get into a place where it wasn’t so distracting, and I could hear his own breathing, which had been growing faintly more ragged with his annoyance, relax somewhat. There still seemed to be an odd hitch in it, though, normally when we hit a particularly rough patch and I was unable to keep from bouncing. At least, I guessed, he didn’t blame me for the terrain.

                It was still a blessing when we stopped for the night, though, perhaps an hour and a half after I first began riding with Thorin. Being so near to someone who seemed to hate me so terribly for so long wasn’t exactly pleasant, and I didn’t think he found it so either, given that he traipsed off into the thin thatch of woods near where we were making camp the moment he got off the pony.

                Fili and Kili were on me the very moment I scrambled off of the pony, though, amusement written thick on both of their faces, arms tossed easy over my shoulders as they led me to the fire.

                “So, how was your ride with uncle?” Fili questioned, voice light.

                “Comfortable?” his brother continued, brow raised, lips twisted into a faint smirk.

                “I suppose. It’d be nice if you dwarves wore softer things, though; his belt buckle dug into my back the whole while. Or, I suppose it was his belt buckle. As I said, you dwarves wear so much metal it’s difficult to tell.” Kili immediately began cackling like a fool, Fili obviously barely resisting doing the same and trying desperately to stop his brother.

                “Belt buckle!” the younger howled, almost doubled over in his laughter now, and eventually Fili just had to drag him off. I shook my head; I’d never understand the goings on of a dwarven mind, obviously. So, rather than make the attempt, I simply sat by Bombur and helped get dinner underway; at least I knew what he meant when he spoke, which was a massive improvement from Thorin’s darling little heirs. And, periodically, Thorin himself. I snorted quietly; it really was easy to see how they were related, no matter how different they acted.

* * *

 

                The next morning, Thorin hauled me up by the back of my jacket and shoved a bowl of bland porridge into my hand. I, bleary eyed and not entirely sure what was happening, began eating slowly and without much thought as to what I was actually doing.

                “Eat. When you finish, we will set off. You ride with me again.” With that, Fili and Kili appeared as if they’d been invisible, each of them leaning on one of their uncle’s arms, teasing faces split in matching wide grins.

                “He can ride with one of us, uncle,” Kili began, looking, I’m sure, as innocent as he could manage to make himself look.

                “Save you the bother. After all, it’s only fair we trade him, right?”

                “Make sure none of the ponies are worked too hard.”

                “We’ll hold him tightly, we promise. He won’t fall.”

                “Besides, our belt buckles are smaller. They won’t dig into his back so harshly.” He only barely resisted laughter at the last. I was still unsure what was so funny about belt buckles to dwarves, but obviously it was something. I could almost hear Thorin grinding his teeth, and I could see very well that he wanted to say something probably very insulting to his nephews, but was likely resisting out of some convoluted need to look untouchable in front of me, as if, after all the times he’d set to glaring at me, I thought he couldn’t be annoyed.

                “Hurry up, Halfling. As for you, Fili, Kili, I’m the only one with a pony strong enough to carry him and myself.” With that, he was gone, sweeping off with the sort of drama usually reserved for actors in a play. Fili and Kili were forced to lean against each other to laugh wildly rather than their uncle’s shoulder.

                “Sorry, Bilbo,” Fili managed.

                “We tried. You’ll have to deal with uncle’s belt buckle again.” At least he wasn’t howling quite as loudly, now, when he mentioned belt buckles. I wondered if Bofur would tell me what was so funny about them. Or, perhaps Fili and Kili would; I hadn’t asked, after all.

                “What in the world is so hilarious about belt buckles?” I asked, and Kili tried very, very hard to look serious, though he failed miserably.

                “Obviously our hobbit has never ridden with someone with uncle’s particular feelings towards him,” Fili said, shaking his head, and Kili nodded.

                “Or perhaps never ridden with anyone at all. Have you, Bilbo?” he asked, and I blinked.

                “I used to ride with some of the lads who worked on the farms, when I was younger. My father had quite a fit whenever he saw me, though my mother could always settle him well enough, and the both of them knew I’d only go off and do the same again the next day. It was quite improper, for a Baggins; those years, I think, were what got me my reputation as more Took than anything,” I smiled to myself, the memories fond. Fili and Kili sat in front of me, interest instead of amusement showing more prominently on their faces now.

                “Took?” Kili asked, head tilted, and I nodded, still eating my porridge.

                “Yes, my mother’s family. They’ve a reputation for being a bit… wild, I suppose, and my mother was the wildest of them. Travelled all the way to Rivendell, she did, further than any hobbit had ever gone. Few expected it when my father asked to court her, and even fewer expected her to accept! He loved her fiercely, though; no one ever doubted that. She even dragged him on a few adventures, I’m told, before she grew pregnant with me. Beyond that, though, my father was always a proper Baggins, and wished me to be the same even as my mother told me her stories and encouraged me to come home late for dinner all covered in dirt from my adventures.” I smiled; it had been a while since I’d been able to remember these things, and the boys seemed very interested.

                “So what happened? Why did it take so much convincing to get you to follow us?” Fili asked, and I could almost feel my smile grow sad, perhaps nostalgic.

                “When my mother died… my father and I, we didn’t handle being alone well. It was as if every bit of light left Bag End, all the joy. He needed me there desperately; he feared what would happen to me, alone in the woods or on the roads to Bree and back. I got in the habit of staying in Bag End, watching her things and keeping them safe, trying to make my father smile again. When he died as well, in his grief... I suppose I couldn’t bring myself to return to the way I had been.” Hands settled on my arms, and I’d never seen Fili and Kili look so serious before, their faces dark and wan.

                “Our father is gone as well,” Fili began, voice soft and warm.

                “But we couldn’t imagine losing our mother on top of that. And you must have been very young. Younger than us, at least; not an adult,” Kili continued, shaking his head, glancing over at his brother.

                “Have you any family? Siblings, cousins?” I let myself smile again, hoping to be comforting, settling my porridge bowl in my lap to touch their hands.

                “I was an only child; another reason for everyone to see my mother as odd, I suppose. Most hobbits have five or six children, at least, but my mother had trouble even just having me. I’ve plenty of cousins, though, more on the Took side than the Baggins, and I was always fonder of them anyway. Most of the cousins on the Baggins side only want Bag End from me, while the Tooks are quite happy where they are.”

                “That just won’t do,” Kili said.

                “So little family! You know you’ve a place with us, don’t you? With all of us dwarves? After that mess with the trolls, you’re as good as shield brother to all of us.” Still Fili looked painfully serious, and I nodded faintly.

                “Thank you, Fili, Kili. I’m glad to hear that, though I expect a few of the company wouldn’t be willing to say the same.” They shrugged.

                “You know, Bilbo, I’m a bit curious; why have you never married, if your house is so empty? Had a few little hobbits of your own?” Fili questioned suddenly, and I laughed.

                “Marry? I’ve never met anyone I wished to wed, I suppose. As I said, I’ve always got to worry over whether they’d be marrying me for myself or for my money and my home. Besides, they’d likely blunt my knives,” I said, one eyebrow raised, and the both of them laughed.

                “And bend the forks, I’m sure,” the elder brother said, nodding, and I _did_ feel oddly welcomed as I finished my bowl.

                “You know, I think by now I’d let you all tear every doily in my home if it meant I’d still get to meet you. I’m glad of the adventure; Gandalf was right. I was scarcely even myself anymore, so lost was I in keeping Bag End a shrine.” They went wide eyed suddenly and grabbed me tightly into their arms, my face pressed against Fili’s chest and Kili’s face buried in my hair. Then, of course, Thorin yelled at all of us to get moving, and though they rolled their eyes, they still listened to their uncle, and I, a bit fearful for my health should I ignore him, did the same. And I still didn’t know what was so terribly funny about belt buckles.

* * *

 

                Thorin was waiting for me by his pony when I got there, and actually helped me onto it before he climbed on himself, once again pulling me against him and holding me there so I wouldn’t fall, though it wasn’t precisely necessary that day. The path, after all, was far clearer that day, smoother, more rolling hills than rocks. Still, I, again, knew better than to complain too fiercely, given that I imagined he’d be quite willing to throw me off the pony and, possibly, trample me afterwards.

                The belt buckle quickly became an issue again, however, and still he hissed and growled whenever I attempted to adjust myself, one hand twitching angrily on my stomach while the other kept a white-knuckled grip on the reigns.

                “Hobbit, why must you squirm so? I do not relish in riding with you either,” he finally said, voice low and almost stilted.

                “Something on your clothing presses against me when you have me sitting so close,” I said, “It’s difficult to get comfortable.” He stiffened, for a moment, and seemed as if he wanted to say something (probably an insult) but finally decided against it. Odd; normally he enjoyed making fun of me. Perhaps he felt bad that I was so uncomfortable, or perhaps he was uncomfortable as well. After all, from what I’d seen of Thorin, he was at least not a hypocrite; he wouldn’t mock me for something he suffered himself.

                Instead, he just stayed silent, beyond the occasional noise to show me his annoyance, or that he still despised me greatly no matter the passage of time. Either was a valid possibility, by that point. I sighed to myself and hoped desperately for evening to fall so we could stop.

* * *

 

                I had to admit that riding with Thorin was far more comfortable than riding alone. I expected he didn’t think so, though, because he ran off again the moment we stopped. I sighed, shaking my head and settling by the new fire, glad when Bofur settled beside me. Now, we weren’t precisely in private, of course; Dwalin was there, along with his brother Balin and two thirds of the brothers Ri, with Nori apparently having disappeared somewhere for whatever reason. I presumed I’d figure it out later that evening when Dori set to yelling at him for whatever he’d done.

                “Bofur, what’s so funny about belt buckles?” I asked, and he blinked, raising an eyebrow and turning to face me more fully.

                “Belt buckles? Nothing, insofar as I know, Master Baggins. Why in the world are you asking?”

                “Because every time I’ve mentioned them for the past two days, Fili and Kili have been beside themselves laughing.” Everyone looked faintly terrified, I assume because if Fili and Kili found something funny, it was probably awful.

                “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you said, Bilbo?” I tilted my head and informed them that I’d complained to them because Thorin’s belt buckle, or something else on his person, had been prodding me while we rode, and explained that I had no idea why they’d so fixated on belt buckle and thought it was because dwarves thought belt buckles were funny. Saying it all out loud like that, I realized how silly it sounded. Balin sucked in a mouthful of smoke from his pipe too quickly and set to coughing wildly, Dori beside him looking faintly horrified while Ori seemed as confused as I felt and Dwalin and Bofur started cackling just like Fili and Kili. I sighed; I imagined I’d be the butt of jokes for the rest of the journey if it kept up this way.

                “May I please know what’s so funny now?” I asked, and Bofur only shook his head, clapping me on the shoulder.

                “Only a misunderstanding, Bilbo; don’t worry over it. I had wondered why Thorin’s started setting off the woods every day.” The last he said more to himself, and Dwalin nodded.

                “I’ll talk to him, lad. I expect he’s about as lost as you, if in a different way.” I blinked; apparently not even the older dwarves who liked me were willing to speak directly about this. I would have such stories to tell, when I returned to the Shire, all about dwarves and their belt buckles. I was sure Hamfast would be amused, if only for the novelty of it; we heard little of dwarves in the Shire, after all, them living so far away and apparently travelling from their mountains only slightly more often than we hobbits travelled from our Shire. In any case, I did appreciate the gesture Dwalin was offering, so I nodded and let it be, as that seemed about all I was able to do.

* * *

 

Thorin’s POV

                The Halfling was a curse upon me, surely sent by Mahal to spite me for some past wrong I’d done. There could be no other explanation, by this point. I leaned against a tree, breath coming too harshly, hand filthy, body limp and tired. And then, of course, I heard someone tramping through the woods towards me, and scrambled to cover myself. I managed to wipe my hand clean, at least, and half-tie my breeches back, before Dwalin appeared, brow raised, every line of his body and every angle of his face betraying his amusement.

                “You know you ought to tell someone before you run off, Thorin. We’ve got watches for this, and I don’t think our story will be quite as dramatic if you die because you wanted to off it in the woods without anyone knowing.”

                “As though you haven’t, Dwalin,” I said, finishing redressing and standing, slow and disgustingly unsteady. Damned hobbit.

                “Not without telling _someone_ , my friend. You’ve got the poor Halfling all confused, by the way; Fili and Kili will be teasing him for weeks.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head faintly. He _was_ a bit of a fool; always had been. Fell for a sweet face and wide eyes whenever he saw them, generally, no matter how unexpected it was of him.

                “You think he truly doesn’t know, Dwalin? No matter his age, Gandalf swore he was an adult, and he seems to think as much of himself. Besides, didn’t you see all the children running about his Shire? They’re obviously very… prolific, and surely very open about it. No, he’s simply…,” I paused, unable to quite think of the word to describe what he was doing. Mocking me, perhaps, as recompense for me insulting him, however deserved the insults were. Dwalin laughed.

                “What? You think he’s doing it on purpose, Thorin? Not likely, just look at him! He’s innocent as Ori.” I gritted my teeth; perhaps it was so, yet perhaps not. I trusted Dwalin’s opinion, generally, but as I’d said, he was easily swayed by an innocent face. Half the time I assumed he’d let Ori get away with even more than his elder brothers, which was truly saying something. Even Fili and Kili had often escaped his wrath in their younger years, so long as they looked penitent and displayed the proper amount of puppy eyes. Still, he’d seemed genuinely confused even to me, and not rude; were he mocking me, or tempting me, I expected he’d want me to _know_ he was doing it, unless he was far less intelligent than he seemed. Despite that, it was far simpler to blame him for such things, to think it was all purposeful. Dwalin sighed.

                “I do understand, Thorin; it’s easier to pretend as if he’s doing it purposefully, else you’re simply wanting him because you want him. He is not, though; he is nothing but himself, and in a way, I understand why you want him as well. Bit too soft for my tastes, but comely enough, if one can ignore his lack of beard.” A spark of faint anger shot up my spine and I cursed to myself; I shouldn’t have been angry at my dearest friend for pointing out what was obvious enough. He _was_ comely, anyone who looked at him would say as much, and I was sure he’d been told as much in his Shire. Perhaps he had a few little hobbits of his own running about, some hobbit lass just as comely as he waiting at his Bag End. Of course, I shouldn’t have been angry at my nephews for offering to ride with him today either, but I had been. Of course, I’d half thought he’d put them up to mocking me as well, but if he didn’t know… I shook my head again. It truly was so much easier to believe he knew.

                “He’s certainly done nothing to help whilst he rides with me, all the grinding and rubbing he does,” I murmured, and Dwalin only laughed again.

                “Talk to him, Thorin; I assure you he doesn’t know, but if he did… well, I expect he’d be willing enough to give you a try if you actually had a few conversations with him. Perhaps stopped glaring so much, as if you were a particularly hard to get along with, emotionally stunted hunk of granite. Not to say that isn’t what you are, of course, but I’m sure you could make him think otherwise for at least a few hours.” I couldn’t help but laugh a bit as we started making our way back to the camp; he’d always been able to make me do so, I suppose simply because of our familiarity with one another. In any case, I supposed it would do to listen to him, at least in this.

                Though I still thought him unsuited to the quest we were on, the hobbit had proven his worth with the trolls, though I hated to admit it, and it was not only his fault that the situation with them had come about to begin with; my own nephews had had a large hand in it. He was a clever little thing, that I would not deny, and cleverness, along with the tact he often displayed, could easily come in handy. I’d still prefer he knew how to use a sword, of course, how to fight, but that could be done with a few simple sessions of training.

                 I did not know if I wished to have him forever, then, but I did know that I wished to have him; I did not lie to myself, at least not in regards to that. It would be a pleasant diversion if nothing else, so long as he agreed. I nodded to myself as we reached the fire, and called for the hobbit right away. He scrambled to his feet and followed me away from the camp without question, just far enough that I didn’t feel the need to suspect one of the others of the Company of listening in. With that, I took a deep breath and began.

                 “I am sorry, Halfling,” I said, the words coming out a little too quickly, and the little creature jolted, lips parting just slightly and eyes going almost comically wide. My nephews would’ve been leaning against each other by now, crying in their laughter. For myself, my lip twitched up a little.

                 “What?” he asked, and I sighed.

                 “I am apologizing. I… misjudged you, in a way. Not to say you are not more a grocer than a burglar; you are, and I do not think that will change, nor do I desire it to. I do think you are smart, however, and you are… better at speaking to others than myself and the rest of my Company. I can see the value the meddlesome Wizard found in that. I think you have the potential to help us, and to do what you were hired to do.” He smiled, then, so bright it almost stung me. If only I had known it was so easy to make a hobbit smile! I offered my own in response, faint and thin, half-worried he was only pretending, doing this to make me think he’d forgiven me only so he could betray me later. I bit back the suspicion, however; he liked simple things, I knew that, and in his Shire, I imagined forgiveness came more easily than it did on the road.

                 “Thank you for saying that, Thorin,” he said, voice soft. “I appreciate it, and of course you are forgiven. I… I have wanted nothing more since we set off than to help you all regain the home you’ve lost. For something like that, I don’t mind having left my own.” And with that, somehow, all was well. I clapped him on the shoulder and he laughed, settling his hand atop mine like nothing. Such kinship was strange, I admit, but not unwelcome, and when he dragged me into a hug afterwards, I accepted it and returned it, though it certainly did little to help the less than pure feelings I’d been harboring. Still, it was a step, and I felt better for it; he sat by me at dinner that night and accepted when I offered a place for his bedroll near mine by the fire.

                 I would’ve liked it far better had I not been marveled at the whole while, and had my nephews not congratulated Dwalin, rather loudly, for drilling through my thick skull where they’d been unable. I suppose I should’ve only counted it a blessing that the hobbit was already asleep by then.

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                Thorin’s sudden offer of friendship was… unexpected, obviously, but far from unwelcome, and with it came a new, sudden, deep acceptance from everyone in the company. Even the ones who’d already liked me well enough became fonder, even going so far as to sometimes give me extra portions, or lend me their furs on chilly mornings. It was… strange.

                Thorin himself was likely the strangest, though. For someone who’d seemed to hate me the day before, he sought me out often, now, and even engaged in conversation with me while we were riding. It was odd, getting to know the dwarf king as more than the company’s noble leader; he told me stories, often, mostly about Erebor and the life he’d led there, the beauty of the halls.

                More of them were funny than I might’ve thought, as well, and the laughter mixed with the conversation at least helped distract me from the ever-present belt buckle I half thought to ask if he would just remove. I remember one in particular he told, about himself and Dwalin, from when they were scarce more than dwarflings. They’d snuck into the training fields together, eager to learn the art of using their axes and swords together even though they’d been deemed too young still to do more than learn their stances. Apparently they’d managed only to create an avalanche of armor that they had to be dug out of an hour later when the guards came searching for them. He’d laughed when he told me how red in the face his father had grown, and how Balin had been tasked to follow them from then on to make certain they kept their trouble-making to a minimum.

                The more tales he told, the more I understood why he wanted Erebor back so terribly no matter the risk. Even if he’d found a mountain elsewhere, one with twice the riches and twice the beauty, he wouldn’t care; Erebor would still be his home. I told him as much, once, when we sat together by the fire as he seemed to request more and more often, and he’d gotten the oddest, kindest look in his eyes I’d ever seen. From there, he started asking me for my own stories about my own home, and I couldn’t help but grin at the interest.

                I told him story after story, mostly of the time when my mother and father had been alive, and often about the trouble I’d stirred up with my Took relatives and their friends; his favorite seemed to be the time when we’d managed to rope my cousin Lobelia into our games, and she’d managed to fall into Brandywine river, covered her dress and her face and her hair in so many layers of mud that we could scarcely notice her in the woods but for her screeching. Needless to say, she’d never joined us again, and I’d realized all the sudden the difference between myself and proper hobbits. I hadn’t cared much at the time, and now, I was beginning to stop caring again. We grew close, in that time, and closer still when we reached Rivendell and had more time to sit together instead of running from orcs and wargs and who knew what else.

                Despite that, it still came as a shock when, all of a sudden, he kissed me in one of the elvish gardens, large, callused hands gentle on my cheeks. Not to say I minded, of course; I’d always noticed that he was handsome, in an unfamiliar way, and I’d noticed it more and more the more often I was around him. So, when it happened, I let myself return the gesture, my arms draped as best as I could manage over his shoulders. When he pulled away, he looked almost as shocked as I felt.

                “You feel the same?” he asked me, and I laughed.

                “I would expect so, unless dwarves kiss people for different reasons than everyone else on Middle Earth,” I said, and he blinked, very slowly, before he seemed to decide it would just be best to kiss me again, which he did. Truly it was a very nice kiss, as well, though the scrape of his beard took a bit of getting used to. Indeed, this was an unexpected journey, and this was an unexpected development to it, but I was quite certain it was very, very welcome indeed, especially when he began leading me off to the room Lord Elrond had given me. And he did finally explain to me why my mentions of belt buckles were so terribly funny to his nephews, which I certainly appreciated. I don’t think he liked having to wait while I let out my own laughter at the absurdity of it all, though; still, it did get me a few more kisses to get me quiet, which I certainly can’t say I minded.


End file.
